


This Pagan Grace

by RobbieTurner



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Manipulation, Mythology - Freeform, Non-Linear Narrative, Omega Will, more tags to come, pretentious named fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobbieTurner/pseuds/RobbieTurner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't meet Chiyo in the Lecter Manor. In the Fairy Tale Castle of Hannibal, Will finds what he's lost. And something else entirely. </p>
<p>(Or: I miss the days where the common agreement among the Hannibal fandom was that Hannibal is Hades and Will is his Persephone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Pagan Grace

Heaven would be to feed on Will’s meat every night and having him made whole again the next morning. His own, beautiful Prometheus.  If he could build worlds as easily as he makes dishes, there would be a garden where he would make love to his darling and, inside his body, he would find holiness again.

~//~

To Will, it feels as if he’s crossing into a fairy tale land.  The Lecter Manor – a huge, dark castle, reminds him of the one from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. No roses in this dead garden however, and in the end his kiss only made the Beast worse. He climbs the stone wall – he’s lighter now, having grown thinner since that night – and enter his Stag’s first domain.

( _He had bled on the floor, a whole winter setting upon his body, eyes half-open, the spring taken from him by cunning hands.)_

And it’s somewhat romantic, touching his beloved’s childhood with his fingertips, as he did with his youth in Palermo, like he used to trace his ties when Hannibal wasn’t looking, the scent of expensive cologne lingering in the silk. There’s a graveyard ahead, where in one of the stones Will recognises the name of Hannibal’s sister, and the scar in his belly aches. 

_(“I don’t believe I have much heart,” Lecter have said, knot deep in Will’s body, his Omega pliant and content, wearing his secrets like a bride wears a ring “perhaps not even the bare minimal required to love. Most of it was melted along the bones of my sister. But whatever is left of it, my dearest William, is yours.”)_

The house seems abandoned, but when he tries to force the door open he finds it firmly locked. A haunted place, he once read in a book, is where animals come to feed. Sometimes Will wonders if it was the most base, feral part of him that choose Hannibal before his heart did. The Omega in him that scented the killer, the King of Monsters in the good doctor before Will even knew his name. The ancient omegan need to be protected.  He dislikes that theory, but at the same time it’s a comfort, to picture their love as something inevitable. It frees him of some of the guilt. He does have an appeal for the monsters, being the beautiful princess that can look so clearly into their hearts. In a story he would be thrice courted with flowers and blood. They would fight for him. They would kill for him. And in reality, they had.

( _So this is what Will likes: his two wrists pinned under a single hand, the noise in his head tamed by lips that kiss to bruise. They say you truly know a person after fighting or fucking them. Hannibal – the predator, the killer, the Alpha – is bare and Will loves him like that. On his beloved’s head the antlers look like a crown._

_“My reasons for not being mated are not as exotic as you may think, Dr. Lecter.”_

_He had said it when the courting was at its beginning. Will smiled a languid smile, looking at Hannibal. They were in his office, and the sun was setting beautifully. Through the window the painted sky could be seen, but neither of them was looking._

_“Are you afraid of losing your independence? It is not uncommon among Omegas.”_

_“Why be Queen when I can be King?”_

_Hannibal’s lips twitched into a smile._

_“The Queen is the most powerful piece in chess.”_

_“And yet she serves the King. If he falls, she falls with him. Not very smart, this sort of fidelity. ”_

_“Some would call it love.”_

_They both paused at that, and Will looked down, still smiling. They waltzed under unspoken rules, almost never letting the flirting become too obvious, two men masqueraded carefully. Will would be lying to say it didn’t give him a sort of thrill. To walk into the lion’s dent, knowing the lion, petting him and teasing him with the possibility of being his lioness. He was using every trick at his disposal to lure Hannibal Lecter, to make it possible for Jack to arrest him, and his biology was in the arsenal._

_Finally, Hannibal spoke:_

_“May I have you for dinner, tonight?”_

_“Yes,” Will answered, still amused at his own cockiness, at his recent-found ability to seduce. “You may have me.”_

_There’s a lot of truth in the web he’s stitching for Hannibal. He prizes his independence; to reign over his own life even if it’s a lonely one. Will doesn’t need a mark on his neck and a name next to his. He’s happy to have (few as they were) relationships with beta women where they can be in equal grounding. He imagines how it would be to take an Alpha, to accept him into his body, to taste his needs and yearn to fulfil them, to be completed but also, in part, erased. To love like that would taint him. )_

It was a killer’s heart, but it was a heart nonetheless, and Will shattered it. He thought about all the trials the heroines in stories had to go through in order to be reunited again with their betrayed beloveds. So he fixed a boat and crossed the Atlantic in seven days, a number fitting for fairy tales, to find his wounded Monster. And he wants to kiss his wounds as much as he wants to make new ones.  Walking around the Lecter property he feels the Stag following him, and it’s a comfort. He finds what it looks like to be another entrance to the house: half-hidden stairs, covered in dead flowers and leaves.

_(It’s a cliché, really, but one he expected to happen since the start. Truth is, what Will believes to be true is that falling in love with Hannibal won’t stop him from doing what he must. Isn’t love, after all, just a chemical reaction? Like being drunk, but still able to drive. Like being in heat._

_The first time happened, much to his surprise, at Hannibal’s office. It showed a lack of control he didn’t expect from Hannibal, but, at the same time, it might have been calculated. That space held so many memories of them. It was almost romantic._

_His fingers curled around one of the stairs’ wood steps, his head slightly tilted, his neck bared like an offering, which Hannibal accepts promptly, taking the skin between his teeth, marking and tasting. Will moans loudly, his other hand tangled in Hannibal’s hair. They kiss, amidst groans and whimpers, and Hannibal takes off Will’s trousers and shorts, having done the same with his shirt and jacket before. He is still immaculately dressed save for his suit. It’s a form of domination and they both rejoice in it; Will is already slick and ready, and his scent is like a call, beckoning the Alpha to him._

_Strong hands pull him up, and hold him open. Between his thighs, Hannibal settles. There’s a gentle pause, one of the few Hannibal concedes him, in which he silently asks for Will’s further consent. The Omega answers by kissing him, biting lightly his lip._

_When Hannibal looks at him again, his eyes are tampered with red, and Will wonders if that’s the same look he gets when he’s killing. The theatricals fall, and something else too. He feels more naked than he is. When Hannibal enters him, Will feels as if he’s giving more than he agreed to give._

_“How long has it been?” Hannibal asks, so subtly breathless it almost goes unnoticed._

_“I haven’t—oh…” he moans, adjusting to the girth inside him, his thighs pressing firmly against the Alpha’s waist. “You’re the first.” He opens his eyes, looks back at Hannibal. “The first Alpha. But you already knew that.”_

_“Yes,” Hannibal answers, in that calm, unapologetic voice of his, and kisses Will again. “I merely wanted to hear you say it.”)_

He spent seven months entrapping Hannibal, and seven more recovering from his efforts.  He slept and slept, dreaming of bottomless stairs, of falling, of flowers growing inside his lungs. Of being awaken by a kiss that would bleed him dry.

When Will woke up, he touched his belly, searching for what was no longer there. He traced the smile and didn’t cry, because he wasn’t surprised. It was a good sign, he thought, to know Hannibal well enough to understand the vastness of his wickedness.

The world moved slowly during those months spent mostly in a hospital bed. Alana and Chilton came to visit, and talked to him as if he was another person, a person that had died in that kitchen, along with Abigail. He couldn’t blame them; they hadn’t watched him closely when he was luring Hannibal, when he felt into the trap himself. They didn’t notice the changes, not the subtle or the obvious one. Will himself didn’t realise how deep he had sunk until the phone call he made to Hannibal, to warn him.

His king had fled the country, and the chessboard was covered with blood. Will was left to be queen of ashes.

 He looks at those stairs, so alike the ones he saw in his dreams. But Hannibal’s first home is empty of answers and empty of him. Will turns, getting ready to leave.

To love Hannibal is to fall. Has he reached the ground yet?

( _What a fascinating creature he must be for Hannibal now, as the play unfolds: An Omega capable of such intricate killings, capable of such regal cruelty. After he convinced Hannibal that he killed Freddie Lounds the Alpha’s hunger for him grew even greater. His ruts triggered Will’s heats and so, when he was not playing that three-people chess between Hannibal, Jack and himself, he was on his knees or on his back, on the floor or on the bed, getting thoroughly fucked by Dr. Lecter._

_And it’s so easy to be in love, like few things have been easy in Will’s life. So easy to kiss the words on his lips and accept that his body was made for Hannibal’s knot, so easy to play the killer he in part is, to amuse him with tales of violence, to make him believe yours is half of his soul. It was bound to happen. He became careless._

_It’s a cold Saturday when Will finds out he’s pregnant.)_

 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: thank you Lorage for the beta and suggestions. It's thank to you that this story will have two chapters. Thank you all for reading. Comments and kudos are deeply appreciated.  
> #SaveHannibal


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